


beautiful things

by badacts



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, D/s themes, M/M, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Shibari/Kinbaku, lol bye, petnames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9729515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badacts/pseuds/badacts
Summary: Little known fact: Andrew, despite his general air of carelessness, does like beautiful things. Cars, for example - the Maserati is a gleaming example of European engineering and styling, sleek and muscular as a big cat. Clothes, too - his colour palette might be limited by taste, but there’s nothing wrong with his understanding of fit and fashion.Also: men.Another little known fact: Neil Josten likes to be held down in bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's kids

Little known fact: Andrew, despite his general air of carelessness, does like beautiful things. Cars, for example - the Maserati is a gleaming example of European engineering and styling, sleek and muscular as a big cat. Clothes, too - his colour palette might be limited by taste, but there’s nothing wrong with his understanding of fit and fashion. 

Also: men.

Another little known fact: Neil Josten likes to be held down in bed.

Little known because Andrew is the only one who knows what Neil looks like straining against the confines of Andrew’s hands, pink-cheeked and restless with want. The only one who gets to hear him say _yes, like that, don’t stop_. It’s a privilege he enjoys and means to keep, too.

A third fact: Andrew is more experienced than Neil, but that isn’t saying much. Their first year was a delicate dance between both of their boundaries, flowering into something built on rock-solid foundations of trust and consent. Andrew was in control for the sake of his sanity, and Neil liked it, and Andrew knew that.  

Since then, their horizons have expanded. Andrew hands the reins over to Neil sometimes, takes suggestions and makes them too. They’ve tried plenty of new things. Things that Andrew would have sworn a few years ago he never would have wanted or even considered he might be interested in. 

Google is Andrew’s friend. That’s where he’s going with this.

So, Andrew likes beautiful things. Neil likes to be held down and loves to give up control, but doesn’t like to have his hands cuffed or tied, courtesy of a dead man. The internet has provided Andrew with an intersection of those things, one that he raises to Neil with his usual level of tact and grace.

“I want to tie you up,” he says one day when they’re alone, because _that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you_ wasn’t Andrew’s best work but had turned out alright anyway.

Neil, who is perched on the edge of the roof cheerily wasting good nicotine, shoots Andrew a look. “What, right now?”

“In bed,” Andrew elaborates. He throws over his phone in a low underhand pass that Neil snatches easily, though his expression turns amused.

“Don’t know what you would have done if I hadn’t caught that,” he says, unlocking the phone. 

“Bought a new one,” Andrew tells him boredly, lying back on the rough surface of the roof. Overhead the sky is oppressive with cloud, almost close enough to touch. A foot away, Neil is perusing the pictures on Andrew’s phone - this is part of the process of new ideas, a form of information-sharing easier than talking sometimes.

Neil hums. Then his head appears in Andrew’s vision, his expression serious.

“Okay,” he says, and then leans down to drop an off-centre kiss on Andrew’s mouth. Andrew pulls him down, lines it up, makes it better until Neil is weak with it.

That’s how they end up at Columbia in the weekend, alone. Nicky is on a week’s break in Germany, partly to sort out his move there after graduation and partly just to see Erik. Aaron is probably with his cheerleader. Kevin is on campus like usual, and hadn’t complained unduly about Andrew and Neil leaving him behind. Mostly because he hadn’t gotten a chance to.

The irony of them using the 14th of February to escape for the weekend doesn’t escape Andrew. Neil seems as oblivious to the ‘occasion’ as he always is in the passenger seat of the car on the drive out, air from the cracked window blowing his hair in his eyes.

Up in their bedroom, Neil peels off his shirt and throws himself onto the bed. “Are we going to do this, or what?” 

Despite the briskness of his tone, his expression is eager. Andrew says, “Be quiet.”

Neil’s eyes say _make me_. Andrew curls a beckoning finger at him to make him sit up, inserts himself between his spread thighs and kisses him until his hands creep up Andrew’s hips and hold tight. When he breaks it, Neil looks suitably dazed, cheeks pink.

“Stand up,” Andrew says. There’s no resistance this time - Neil gives himself over instantly, standing in the space Andrew makes for him by moving back a little. “Strip.”

He does, revealing the rest of him in a few quick movements. He’s already half-hard, because he’s so impossibly easy for Andrew. As a reward, Andrew doesn’t make him pick up and fold the clothes he just threw across the room.

Punishment doesn’t work on Neil anyway - too much rebellion packed into that slim runner’s frame. No point in Andrew working hard forcing that spirit down when a soft touch makes him melt into pliability. 

Also, he likes this way better.

“Stay,” Andrew says, and goes for his bag where he threw it just inside the door earlier. Inside is the coil of jute rope, and a pair of safety scissors.

In another world, Andrew would just use a knife if he really needed to cut through the rope to free Neil. In this world, and with Neil, Andrew wouldn’t put a blade so close to his skin like this. Hence, scissors. He pulls off his armbands while he’s there and tucks them away, leaves the rest of his clothes - jeans, dark t-shirt - on.

When he straightens and turns, Neil is waiting and watching him. He’s playing at patience, but it’s really not his strong point - his fingers are twitching gently at his sides. That’s fine: Andrew isn’t really interested in keeping him waiting today.

“Say stop and I’ll stop,” Andrew tells him as he steps close again, the same way he always does. The scissors go on the bedside cabinet, and Andrew unwinds the coil of rope, feeling it fall through his hands. It’s a little stiff, but feels nice against his skin, soft-coloured and a shade or two lighter than Neil where he hasn’t tanned.

Andrew keeps it simple, knots he studied and practiced on himself in a pattern he memorised from his research. His imagination is better than anyone would give him credit for, combining his eidetic memory and knowledge of what Neil likes and how he looks. He’s been thinking about what Neil would look like with the delicate tracery of rope criss-crossing his body like a picture frame.

Honestly, it’s better than he imagined. Not least because Neil is sinking, packaged down and safe, sublime under Andrew’s hands and so, so willing.

“You’re good,” Andrew tells him, gets a fine flutter of lashes and an indrawn breath that’s almost as good as moan for it. “Lie back.”

There isn’t enough room between rope and skin to use the harness to lower Neil down, but the feel of it rough under Andrew’s palms on Neil’s hips is perfect. Once he’s slid back onto the sheets, arms thrown back over his head in apparent abandon, Andrew strips the rest of his clothes off with the awareness of Neil lazily tracking him.

Andrew’s sheets are dark navy, so Neil’s skin is luminous against them. He arches up into Andrew’s body when he pushes up to kneel over him, cradling an unbound wrist in each hand. From there it’s all push and pull, bare resistance and the opposite. Neil tilts his head back to give Andrew free access to his throat, breath hissing out from between his teeth.

Teeth at his collar bone earns a proper groan. Andrew kisses as far down as he can without letting Neil go, then works his way back up, getting more and more movement as he goes.

The first quiet of giving in never lasts that long. Truthfully, Andrew wouldn’t have it any other way - he’s always liked a little fight.

“Come on,” Neil urges, bucking up towards Andrew’s body. “Andrew, come _on_.”

Andrew always gives him what he asks for. “Come on?” 

Neil knows that. “Fuck me. Today, maybe?”

Typical, really. Andrew bites him firmly on the jaw for it, but reaches for the lube he knows is between the mattress and the headboard. He left Neil’s lower half as bare of rope as his wrists - no runner, even a mostly tame one, likes to have his legs tied - so it’s easy to hook one of his legs over his arms. One of Neil’s now free hands hooks under his other knee, while he winds his fingers into Andrew’s hair at the base of his neck.

Neil loves to be fingered, turns into a writhing mess for Andrew, and Andrew needs that today. He uses every trick in the book to make Neil jerk and moan, leaking onto his belly. 

“I’m going to come,” Neil says, sounding falsely put together for a man who is pink all the way down his chest and utterly glazed with pleasure. The clutch of him has Andrew desperately hard, but patience is definitely one of his few virtues.

“Good,” Andrew tells him, gets that same flutter of Neil’s eyes closing as his mouth parts. Wanting, wanton. “Come for me.”

Obliging, with barely any coaxing from Andrew’s curling fingers, Neil does. His back arches, come streaking from his untouched cock across his abdomen. Andrew gentles him through it, letting him ease back down flat onto the bed to catch his breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” Andrew says, voice so low he barely recognises it. Neil blinks up at him, almost dreamily. “So fucking sweet.”

“Mm,” Neil murmurs. “Kiss me?”

They kiss for a while, enough space between them to let them both cool off but not so far Andrew can’t feel the shudders of Neil coming down. Neil’s arms are both wrapped around Andrew’s neck, which hoists him awkwardly off the bed, not that he seems to care or notice.

“Still gotta fuck me,” Neil says eventually. Andrew can’t think of anything better at this point, so he curls his fingers lightly around Neil’s hardening cock and teases it until it starts to fill properly again.

The touch is electricity - Neil arches again, pants, “Ah, ah, ah,” in Andrew’s ear with overstimulation, but doesn’t say stop. He says, “C’mon,” instead, voice a rasp.

There’s condoms on the cabinet, but pulling away from Neil is like ripping off a limb. He’s grown a few more arms since Andrew last looked, for a start, and they all seem to be intent on keeping Andrew close. Andrew puts a hand in the centre of Neil’s chest and holds him flat to the bed, reaching with the other until he finds cardboard and foil.

Once he’s rolled one on, he lifts his anchoring palm off of Neil’s chest, gets a gasp and hands grasping at him for his efforts. It’s hard to say which of them is more insistent at getting Andrew between his thighs - all of Neil’s limbs are pulling him in, and it’s where Andrew wants to be anyway. He goes.

Neil lets him inside so easy, his body relaxed after coming once even as he heats up again. One slow forwards press and Andrew is in to the hilt, Neil’s nails in his back urging him to stay as close as they can possibly get, to kiss him.

Neil’s the one to move first, a firm buck upwards like he can go anywhere with Andrew’s weight holding him down. The realisation makes him malleable again, spurs Andrew into slow rolls of his hips that get enough noise he’s glad the neighbours don’t live any closer.

He feels so good, held down and wanting, with Andrew’s marks on him in rope and reddish marks at his throat and chest. Just like that, Andrew is enthralled with the impossibility of him like this, the ridiculousness of them together. Right now, Andrew has never wanted anything more, even when Neil is right here and his. 

For someone who has already come once, Neil gets close again very quickly. The trembling of him is catching - Andrew feels it spreading into his arms where they’re set into the bed, rolling in his belly. Neil’s red-faced and writhing again, right there on the edge but not quite able to go over. 

He needs more than this. But he won’t need _much_ more.

Andrew shifts his weight and reaches down with his newly free hand, tracing the knot in the rope at Neil’s belly before going to Neil’s straining cock. Neil’s head snaps back at just the brush of Andrew’s fingers, and the sound that rips out of him at the first stroke is indescribable. 

He’s wet-cheeked. “An-An-Andrew-”

“Just like that, baby,” Andrew says, and notices the endearment a second later. It feels ridiculous and right in his mouth. “Come on.”

“Come on?” Neil gasps, because he’s a smart ass to the last.

“ _Come_ ,” Andrew says, and it’s a command from deep in his chest. Neil’s eyes roll back into his head as he obeys, fingers pulling at Andrew’s hair in a singular full-body spasm.

It looks like it’s so good it hurts. He’s a vice around Andrew’s cock, and Andrew follows him over the edge so fast he gets lost in the white-hot burn of pleasure, chasing it in Neil’s body.

He comes back still shuddering to Neil stroking his hair at the nape of his neck, eyes closed and absent. He hums discontentedly when Andrew pulls out, but settles with a brief firm kiss pressed to his mouth, flopping back to the bed.

Neil doesn’t like to be touched, afterwards, until he settles back into his skin. He doesn’t like to be left alone either. Andrew stays close, listening intently to the slowing rhythm of Neil’s breath turning hitching to smooth while his own heartbeat quiets.

Eventually, Neil stirs and turns his head to Andrew, opening his eyes. They’re reddened but clear. “One day I’m going to tell everyone you call me ‘baby’ just to see the looks on their faces.”

“One day I’m going to kill you,” Andrew replies. They’re both lying. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Neil assents, and Andrew starts to carefully unwind the rope from him. It leaves marks on his skin that Andrew can’t resist brushing his fingers against, aware of the way it makes Neil push back into his touch. 

Once it’s coiled out of the way, Andrew makes him drink a full glass of water. He fumbles for the bedside cabinet, reaching for the lotion he keeps in there for the chafing where Neil’s skin is thinnest. His fingers meet cardboard instead, unusual enough to make him look.

It’s a box of chocolates, one of those obnoxious themed ones in pink and red. When he glances back at Neil, the idiot is grinning. Not as oblivious as usual, then.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, all cat-that-got-the-cream smugness. “Don’t worry. I already got what I wanted.”


End file.
